UNGRATEFUL

Snow soft warmth cascades on smouldering sadness,
Bringing out tears orphaned at birth.
I look away, unable to face my own fears,
Groping in the blackness of self-induced torture,
Crawling around for a drop of happiness.
You said I could be happy and that change would find me,
But I am as lost as ever and happiness seems more than a million tears away.
Can I cower in my corner where a world of mine is growing?
And play with the ashes of burnt dreams?
Muttering to myself about my failed attempts to fit in,
Where I am an alien like joy in the kingdom of shame.
Can I lie here in the darkness that burgeons even when the sun shines outside?
And when the birds sing their melodies can I offer my acrimonious cries?
All the formless pools of self-pity merge,
Reflecting a dead face with obsolete features rusting with age.
I pray from my ditch for redemption from this wretchedness,
But all I am proffered is tears of wounded angels and life with all its cruelness.